


Frosty Families

by secretlyasummers



Category: X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Gen, family nonsense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-26
Updated: 2019-02-26
Packaged: 2019-11-05 20:03:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17925413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secretlyasummers/pseuds/secretlyasummers
Summary: Emma, Scott, and the Stepford Cuckoos are off vacationing, post-superhero fights, in Paris.





	Frosty Families

“Emma, sweetheart, are you awake?” Scott stuck his head in the door of the rented apartment’s bedroom. The X-Men had been deployed to Paris, rushing after a new team of Marauders, and in the aftermath, with Mister Sinister on the run again, Emma and her girls had decided to make it a long weekend: visit the Louvre, wander the Tuileries, peruse the thoughts of the struggling young artists and poets on the banks of the Seine – a vacation, of sorts, for Emma, and a training exercise for the Cuckoos. Scott had been summarily drafted to come along, too.

The last vacation Scott could remember taking he had been kidnapped into the future for the better part of a decade. So, he didn’t really have the highest of expectations.

“Darling, I do not, in fact, normally awaken in the middle of the night. Several more hours, please.”

“It’s ten in the morning, Emma.”

Emma cracked open her eyes, to see the sun shining brightly through the blinds.

“Please go and put out the sun then, and tell it that it is interrupting my rest. Go and get some sentinels to fight it, at least.”

Scott cracked the faintest hint of a smile. (Which, for Cyclops, was the equivalent of grinning like an idiot.) “I have some coffee ready, and went across the street to get some bread and butter for breakfast. C’mon, let’s get going.”

Emma rolled over and sat up, brushing her hair out of her eyes. “If I _absolutely_ must.” She blinked the sleep from her eyes. “And my girls are—”

“Already awake.”

“Mmmmfff.” Emma swung her legs over the edge of the bed. “Fine, fine. Let me freshen up, and change.”

Scott closed the door behind him, and walked back into the kitchen of the little rented place. The Cuckoos were clustered around the little kitchen table. Mindee was still in her pajamas – a ratty old t-shirt from the band ‘Cats Laughing’ that Scott would have sworn used to be Kitty’s and some sweatpants – and some sunglasses, while Phoebe and Celeste had changed into their normal attire of a plaid skirt and a blazer over a button down, though Scott thought, from the tell-tale tickle of telepathy on the back of his head, that they were just projecting illusions over their own pajamas.

“You three fine with that?” Scott pointed towards the breakfast he had laid out. “I can go across the street, get something else, if I have to.”

“Mmmmph.” Mindee groaned, tearing into a piece of baguette.

“Sorry?” Scott looked back over his shoulder, and poured himself another cup of coffee. “I didn’t understand that.”

Celeste rolled her eyes. “Yes, Mister Summers. It’s all fine.”

Phoebe took a sip of coffee, and rubbed her forehead, projecting telepathically. _Mindee’s just discovering that being in a telepathic hivemind doesn’t mean that you can share your hangover across our minds._

“Hangover?” Scott didn’t drink, but as someone who had spent a lot of his youth around Warren Worthington III, he was more then familiar with the concept. Not that he was particularly sympathetic – Scott ran a school, he didn’t love kids drinking – but he was curious exactly what precipitated that.

“Miss Frost took us to a gallery opening, in the Marais, while you were off at the airplane thing—”

“The air and space museum,” Scott supplied.

“Right.” Celeste continued on. “Anyway, so, they had all this complementary wine at this gallery, for the buyers and artists, and while Phoebe and I were appreciating art and talking to the intelligentsia, Mindee over there decided to take advantage of that.” She shot her sister a look. “A lot of advantage of that, actually.”

Phoebe finished her coffee, and shot Mindee a sideways glance. “Some would call that poetic justice, Irma.”

 _And some would say to mind your own business,_ Mindee telepathed back.

“It’s not my fault,” Celeste said, “that you were drinking like you were Professor Logan while Miss Frost was trying to explain to us the intricacies of –” and here she made air quotes “— ‘the implications of the mythos of the sentinel on sculptural programs’ and the like.”

Mindee took off her sunglasses and rubbed her eyes, switching back to speech, instead of thinking at people. “Fine, fine. It was a mistake, but I was bored. And I know that you two were bored, too, you were just better at hiding it. Cel, Phoebe just . . . don’t tell mother.”

Celeste rolled her eyes. “Of course not.”

“We’re not stupid,” Phoebe chimed in.

She looked up at Scott, who was leaning against the counter and drinking his coffee, amused. He remembered Nathan bickering with his friends, back in the Askani days. It was like old times.

“Uh, you won’t either, Mister Summers, right?” Mindee had an almost pleading look. “It won’t happen again, and just this once please don’t tell Miss Frost—”

“Tell me what?” Emma swept out of her bedroom, almost imperiously, in a completely white suit, hair up in a ponytail, makeup perfectly done, and a watch and necklace more expensive then the last car Scott owned. “Was there some sort of mischief going on here?”

“Nothing!” Mindee said it hurriedly. She glanced at Scott, quickly, and he nodded yes, a half-smile on his face.

“Is that right, Scott?”

“Everything’s fine, sweetheart.”

“Then get dressed, girls, we have to get going. Celeste, Phoebe, you as well, that isn’t fooling me at all.”

Celeste and Phoebe dutifully went to do so, and Mindee stood to follow. She turned for a second, looking back.

“Thanks, Dad.”

Scott raised his eyebrows. Mindee realized what she had said, looked to her sisters, in the other room, then back towards Scott and Emma. She clapped her hands to her mouth, panicked, and raced into her bedroom.

Emma looked at Cyclops, curious. “Is there something you should tell me?”

“It really is nothing.” Scott leaned to the right, glancing over Emma’s shoulder to make sure that the door to the Cuckoos’ room was closed.

“Then, Scott, dearest, at some point we really should talk about what sort of relationship you and those girls have.”


End file.
